A ghostly history

Not far from these parts is a little hamlet called Fixton. I first found it when I was on one of my typical trotts or should I say tar tars around town.

Fixton is a funny sort of place. A secluded sort of hamlet neither a village nor a town but something a little more mysterious, a little more shall we say untoward. After Dale took me to the aviation museum I was quite convinced that had the jet engine not been invented it might well have simply have been conjured into existence by the whispering presences that oozed forth over the wind swept marshes. Ghosts if another time but quite fanciful ones I felt. All too happy to see the little folk scurrying about their business then seized by a propellor powered monstrosity and spun about the sky.

Ghosts with a sense of fun they were. Even so I was quite unprepared for what I found next. The many ecclesiastical establishments that dotted the landscape were, by and large, spectacularly neglected, covered in bat droppings and a public health hazard that none of the seen-it- all before locals would venture any where near unless there was the requisite birth, marriage or death to observe.

Accordingly the alabaster statue of Lady Waveney was sitting in a corner, cob web shrouded to all intents and purposes a Miss Haversham stand-in not the finely carved likeness of a long dead noble woman, immortalised in a corner of Fixton chapel.